


Swimming

by quickmanifyouloveme



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 06:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quickmanifyouloveme/pseuds/quickmanifyouloveme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lake around which their relationship revolves is sometimes shattered by liquor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swimming

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically in a modern AU, but it's not the kind of story where that matters much. Just know they didn't fight in WWII.

Nixon doesn’t like to swim.  
He sweats liquor, kisses with his eyes open, and has the gall to drag country-boy Dick into his New Jersey mansion, but he doesn’t like to swim. And that’s fine. The water is only holy, only palms his skin just the right way, when the night curtains are drawn open and sun peeks behind the gossamer threads of dawn.  
Nixon likes to wake up with the sloths. Nixon likes to fall out of bed, tongue thick with sleep and alcohol, strain his voice asking Dick what time it is when he knows Dick’s out of the house by five most mornings, and stumble back onto their mattress, snoring on Dick’s pillow.  
Sometimes, Nixon does stupid shit, like pouring warm brandy into flower pots, and Dick does this funny thing where his cheeks turn rogue with disappointment. It’s a little bit hilarious. It’s also terrifying, because Nixon will wrestle for extra sheets that night and there won’t be anyone to take them back.  
Nixon doesn’t like to swim, but he also doesn’t like to sleep alone. Nixon apologizes by slinging a pristine towel around his neck and waiting for Dick to emerge from the lake. Nixon stays clear of the pier, slumped on a moldy log, and traces their initials stitched on the towel, until R.W. and L.N. are foreign politicians, or abandoned planets, or two dumb kids with guns in their hands and love in their hearts.  
Nixon always worries whether Dick will forgive him or spit lake water in his face. He only breathes easy when Dick takes the towel from him and smiles, lets Nixon carefully kiss his cheek, unshaved scruff greeting freckles once again.  
Dick’s freckles tend to taste like sunlit-ichor and seaweed first thing in the morning. It’s relaxing, and homey, and suits Nixon much better than last night’s whiskey.  
Nixon doesn’t like to swim, and Dick doesn’t like to drink, so one night they get angry, something about Dick’s sister and prostitution, and why can’t you drop your glass for one moment to shake my mother’s hand, and Nixon snatches the wine bottle Dick took from him and runs out the house, across the path, down the pier, and lobs the damn thing into Dick’s lake, because it is Dick’s lake, it’s Nixon’s childhood backyard but Dick’s the only one who will ever know what it feels like when it palms his skin just the right way, and Nixon hopes Dick dives into the lake next morning and tastes alcohol for the first time in his goddamn Quaker life, decides New Jersey just isn’t Pennsylvania and takes half their towels and leaves.  
Nixon wakes up at dawn, tongue thick with insomnia and guilt, and curls into the space on their mattress where Dick’s body should’ve been but wasn’t. He gently breaks the routine, running his hands through his hair, wondering how the hell he’s going to fix it this time. Nixon doesn’t like to swim, but if it’s a choice between flirting with the lake and sleeping alone, he’ll jump off the pier any day.  
So, he does.  
It’s a bit of a rush, falling through the woods in his underwear, dodging the log and keeping his eyes off the towel slung over a tree that’s clearly meant to break his heart, bare feet slapping clumsily against soaked wood, before taking his first and final dive between the waves.  
Nixon doesn’t know what he meant to do—hit his head against a rock and sink or prove to Dick he’s as committed to this as Dick is—but it works. He lets the water hold him, keeps his limbs still because Nixon has never liked to swim because he never learnt, sucks in water like that wine bottle he threw really did poison the entire lake, and is saved. He hears the suck of water around another body before he feels arms tightening around his waist, and he wonders if, after this, Dick would like to go dancing, somewhere nice and liberal where no one would look twice—maybe lake water is alcohol, Nixon’s getting drunk off it, would laugh at himself if there were air—and now he’s being pulled up, up, toward the bubbles and the pier.  
“Lew. Lew!”  
A slap to his cheek, not in anger like Nixon predicted. A pink finger pushes Nixon’s eyelid open, and he sees a swarm of red, either the sunrise or Dick’s hair, there’s really no difference, both are warm and soft and remind Nixon of home.  
Home. A place where a man can introduce his maybe-boyfriend-maybe-something-bigger-and-more-frightening to his mother without worrying about wine on her dress. Shit.  
“I’m sorry.”  
His slurred apology is answered with a disbelieving laugh and a pristine towel wrapped around his shoulders, their initials rubbing against his neck. Nixon doesn’t know whether he’s forgiven or Dick is waiting before spitting lake water in his face, but it’s comfortable, so he burrows into the cloth and tries to keep his eyes closed.  
The silence is broken by the crunch of leaves and twigs as Dick heaves Nixon to standing, throws Nixon’s arm over his shoulder, and guides him toward the house. There, Dick sets him on their mattress and dabs Nixon’s bleeding forehead with a corner of the towel, and Nixon feels like he’s forgiven for just a little bit, maybe until he stops aching and picks up the bottle again. And then Dick lets Nixon kiss his cheek, damp beard scratching freckles, and Nixon knows he won’t be rid of Dick until the day one of them dives in that lake and doesn’t come up.  
Nixon doesn’t like to swim, but he will for Dick.


End file.
